and the stars align...

(wait, what the hell? align, sign. jesus, the english language is all kindsa twisted and silly. now, if something is in a row, we say it is in a line. so the verb of that ought to be aline, right? not aliGn, dammit. somewhere early on in the development of the english language, some dippy git ran through with just random letters tossing them into the middle of words. through would be another example of this. so would would. fuck's sake, this could take all day...)

it is amazing what a full night's (again, there it is) sleep will do for a family of rowdy punk boys. nos. 1 and 2 were much more cooperative and listened better, and actually got to play games for a bit, and didn't even fight (again) when it was time to turn them off and do something else.

and we did. we went outside to "wash the car" again, cause honestly, that was pretty damn (again) fun. i actually sorta worked on flower beds while (again) the sprogs blasted me and each other with the hose at close range. laughter (again) ensued and we all got soaking wet.

now, in the past, when i have been rested, i have had a tendency to not be as harsh or "stick-to-my-guns" as i am when exhausted. but not today. i was, no doubt (yeah, i aint even trying anymore, shit), much more pleasant than i have been, but i still made the kids listen to me on the important things, and they still lost some priveleges. by god and sonny jesus, i am gonna make this thing work if it kills all of us! it won't, but, you know, i like to be all melodramatic.

all is currently quiet from the bedroom as well, so i am thinking (and hoping) that tonight will be another like last, and we will be again pleasant and listen and chipper and whatnot.

now, i am going to clean a bit, and cook myself a steak (yes, a steak. yes, me cook. oh, stop your bloody snickering!), and have a nice salad (i mean it, knock the damn guffawing off!) and maybe watch rebel without a cause, have a drink or two, and toddle off early.

and now i am going to go off on a rant because the phone just rang and this is really starting to piss me off:

before my wife left, i stood in the kitchen as she answered the phone as "toll free" popped up on the caller id, and watched as she proceeded to tell the whorey sonsa bitches on the other side that she was not interested in what they had to offer, and that she had told this to at least two other syphilitic operators, and would they please take her number off of their list, as we would not ever be interested in their product, thank you. (a note here, she didn't call them names or insinuate that they were disease-riddled or any such thing. that is being added here by me. she was very polite but firm. however, if they could've seen her eyes they would've crawled under their desks as if a nuclear blast was imminent. woo, got shivers just thinking about the look, glad it wasn't aimed at me.)

now, after she has left, we still get regular calls from "toll free", which i tend to not answer. but a mere week after my wife left, i am in the shower, and i have just put the shampoo on my hands but not into my hair yet, when the phone rings. at this time, my wife wasn't on some sort of set schedule, and hence would call at strange times of the day. i quickly rinse my hands, bark my shin on the side of the tub, curse the tub, and the installer of the tub, and the creator of bathtubs, nearly turf it on the tile floor (cause my fucking wife is calling from fucking turkey or something, i don't have time to even grab a towel!), and then stand dripping and shivering as i see "toll free" on the caller id. i do not answer it. i do not answer it because the ensuing barrage of obscenities and filth and foul would misrepresent the person that i attempt to be.

now, "toll free" has called at least once a day, mon through fri, since.

today, i answered. "may i speak to wife sardonic?"

"she is not home."

"thank you."

a few hours later, again, same voice. "may i speak to wife sardonic?"

"sorry, she isn't going to be home for several months."

"thank you."

and just now, o my beloved, and surely enraged (as i am) non-existant readers, the same successful brain-donor just rang back and asked me yet afuckinggain if she could speak to my wife.

i took a painful deep breath, and calmy said, "wife sardonic is not going to be home until september at the earliest."

"thank you."

and now, my droogies and only friends, if "toll free" calls again, o the beautiful tapestry of the deepest, foulest, murkiest filth i shall weave for their listening pleasure. i will no doubt dredge up words they may never have even heard before, whilst explaining to them that they are harassing me and that i have been nothing if not civil to them up to that point, and ending with the number they should direct their next call to (my lawyer's) because i swear to all that is good and holy in this shited-up world that if they call me again after i unload on them, there will be harassment charges being filed.

darth needs a new drumset.

i did say i was going to have a drink or two, did i not?

thanks for playing along.

darth sardonic

darth's vallejo back

yeah, so i made an attempt to post about round number three of the back piece. the shrieking of the kids and their repeated attempts to ignore anything i said that wasn't "by all means, play video games until the end of creation." or "here is food and drink, sup until thy sides burst." made it virtually impossible to focus on what i was trying to say.

so i saved it to draft.

well, the long and the short is, o beloved non-existant readers, it sucked ass.

so the cliff notes:

"hey, ready to get started?"

"yeah."

whirr whirr clackity clackity whirr whirr. (while zoning.)

"i need to go get rid of some taco bell."

"cool, i am gonna stretch my neck and check out what you've done so far."

[never, ever ever ever do this: before i stood up i was happily in the zone. i would even go so far as to say that the tattoo didn't hurt so much as it was just aggravating.]

whirr whirr clackity clackity whirr whirr. (oh my fucking god, is this appointment over yet? what happened between then and now that this hurts so damn much?)

and that is pretty much it.

nine hours into the cistine fucking chapel that is my back, o beloved (and no doubt snickering behind your hands) non-existant readers, and i think i have decided that i will still be working on this blessed thing until the roaches (and keith richards, whom they will worship like a god) have inherited the earth.

the last couple days, the kids have been experimenting with what happens when they ignore daddy completely. they have discovered that not being allowed to play video games at all, as well as being banned from movies altogether, really sucks. i have discovered it sucks for me, as well. the whining increases in frequency and volume. they have also discovered that daddy's stern voice can reach a volume and gravelliness that could be said to be hard on the eardrums. they have also discovered that increasing the amount of whining whilst not playing games or viewing movies also increases the potential damage to their eardrums. they have discovered that bothering daddy over and over again while he is napping on the couch is both hard on the book he was reading prior to dozing off, and their eardrums. they also discovered that after books learn to fly, daddy expands his 6'1" 200 lb frame to something that would rival the giants of old, as well as shooting lazers out of his eyes and emitting a sonic barrage that would fragment lesser beings. they learned that all of this causes an odd reaction within their own tiny frames: the instant appearance of copious amounts of salt water combined with the need to flee to the safety of their room. throwing their own toys around while in the safety of the room only causes the giant, lazer- and sound-wave-emitting daddy to come down the hall at a high rate of speed while the collossul sound waves that precede him reach an even louder and deeper frequency.

so after therapy (and the loss of nearly all priveleges allowed a young boy), i got the great idea that we would wash the car when we got home. i figured this would keep the kids entertained, and that i would be accomplishing something at the same time.

this was a good idea for about five minutes. five minutes is not enough time to wash a car. it is, however, enough time to soak daddy. it is also more than enough time to add dirt to the soapy water several times. five minutes is enough time for the oldest to bogart the hose, and to have it forcefully removed from his grasp a few times. it is plenty of time to get wet, dirty, and then parade in and out of the house, against express orders to remain outside, over and over again. it is enough time that had anyone on my block been home, children's services would no doubt have arrived to cart away my kids. (i say that completely in jest. i never laid hands on them at all, and i actually even overexaggerated the forceful removal of the hose--it's called creative license.)

doggedly, no, no. maniacally would be a more appropriate word, i continued to wash the car. this was completely stupid, as it looks worse than it did before. all filmy and dull and it is clear i am going to need to take it in to a car wash place and pay others to have it done properly.

i am competely unsure how two boys who battle sleep until nine at night before passing out on the floor of their room can wake up chipper and bouncey at five am. i go to bed an hour or two after them, and then am forced to search for binkies at ungodly hours of the morning, and remove toddlers with scratchy toenails that they use to take skin off of my thighs and hips from my bed, and finally drag myself like a half-dead slug from sleep when the alarm goes off a full hour-and-a-half after they have already been up and into shit.

however, this might explain the dark circles under their eyes, and maybe even the loss of hearing that they are both exhibiting.

darth sardonic

carrion birds

first, let me say, yes. yes, i listened to sad songs after posting yesterday. and i cried. i cried almost as heavily as the drive back from the airport where i was sure cars passing by on the freeway could hear my sobs, or at least tell that i was bawling. (i am not, repeat not, a very tidy or quiet crier.) got it out of my system, washed my face, and hey, presto, ready to go.

chantay, i too believe in the healing and cleansing powers of crying. you shoulda been reading around this time last year. shit. '06 was a bad year for the sardonic household, and i was fucking crying all the damn time.

i guess it could be said i am a frequent crier. and i collect frequent crier miles, which i can cash in to upgrade from economy cry to first-class cry, or on complementary beverages.

i want to know why the owner's manual for a shaver that is designed specifically for removing hair from some of the, ahem, more tender areas of my anatomy will expressly forbid me to use it on my face? am i the only one that doesn't get that?

i pull out a bag of chips (guacamole flavored--boasting "real avocadoes" on the outside of the package, but judging by the "best if used by" date of 3010, i'm guessing there's less real avocadoes in my chips than cheese on the moon), and without warning, no. 2 appears by my shoulder.

"whatcha doin?"

"uhh, dunno, i wan' chiss."

"of course you do."

i can always count on no. 2 to help me with whatever meal i eat anywhere near his presence. he alights on my shoulder, tucks his wings under, and stretches out his long, thin neck to get a better look at what is on the plate.

i usually grumble about this, saying, "it's my ruddy lunch, and just once i would like to eat it unhindered!"

today i just poured him out a pile of chips and shoved the dip over to where he too could reach it. this, predictably, didn't stop him from standing so close to me that i actually elbowed him in the head when pulling chips out of the bag. (it's ok, later, on the toilet, i am trying to get him to go poop, and ask him if he went poopy, and he replies with an excited shout, "nooo, ppppeepee!" and spit right in my eye at close range.)

after getting a message from the school telling me that everyone but the developmental preschoolers had school on friday (make up snow-day), which matched the letter they sent out, i got an automated call later on friday from the school informing me that my kids weren't in school that day and that i would need to call during business hours to settle that up with the office. what? what?!? you mean to tell me that i could've sent my kids to school and gotten some cleaning and what-have-you done around the house? boy o boy.

i think it is possible that my mom is beginning to show early signs (what a bizaare word, signs. whose great idea was it to toss a g in the middle of that? english is crazy.) of senility. i was talking about my back tattoo (oh shit, i still have to post about that too. man, i'm all over the damn place), and quite unexpectedly she says she wants me to draw her something representing the "eternal mother" so she can get it tattooed. this combined with the amount of times she says/does something that she then promptly forgets... all i'm saying is sometimes she worries me. she can still beat fuck out of me in a game of misery. so who knows?

certainly not me.

darth sardonic

it's time to wake up...

am i alone in here?

so our friend a calls me about 5ish and says she is going stir crazy (her bf is also gone for a bit), and what am i doing.

and, of course, we all know the answer to that. i curve my index finger, bend my thumb, place the two tips together, and splay my other three fingers. as we used to say in buenos aires, huevo.

so plans are hastily made to lay hands on some gin and some tonic, and the fixin's for grilled cheese and tomato soup are amassed. and we play phase 10 and drink and bitch about work and stupid people and our significant others being gone. my wife actually calls while a is there, and we put her on speaker, and in an odd sort of way, it was like before she left.

comme ce, comme ca, o my patient and easy-going non-existant readers, it supplied me with the energy to perk myself up and have a better attitude for the weekend.

but at the same time, while i was hanging out, chatting a bit before going to bed, i was listening to music. the kinds of songs that keep my energy up: alkaline trio, deftones, casualties, on and on.

but without even knowing it, i started a slight glacial shift towards songs that might make me sad: looking back on today, by the ataris, one lonely visitor, by chevelle. it didn't make me cry, maybe because i was so perky as to almost be annoying, and most definitely tipsy.

but i'm feeling it a bit this morning. in the back of my head, like. like i ought to listen to the songs again and get it out of my system before i venture out and enjoy my weekend. like i might actually be able to relax more and have more fun for having done it.

worry not, o fearless non-existants: i get sad, i get depressed, i cry, i rail against god and dubya, and anyone else i think i can get away with blaming, and then i fucking smack myself, tell myself to lay off the fucking moaning, pick myself up, dust myself off, and right back at it.

cause that is just the way i am (said with eyebrow acock, and smirk on full alert).

darth sardonic

never could take forever...

i am not kidding when i say how amazed i am at the amount of interest this mote of dust in the world wide web is drumming up.

thank you, one and all, for the comments, and especially for the votes of support in regards to my doubts about being a father. i sure hope you'll forgive me if i continue to refer to all of you as "non-existant readers". (it's a thing i have gotten used to doing that started off as a weird joke between me, myself, and i.) also, i hope you will forgive me if i still find myself unsure as to how fit a father i might actually be. i know, i know, we've all been there, etc etc, and i am not saying that i am not really fit to be a father, or that i am a lousy stay-home dad, but that doesn't change the fact that i still feel that way at times, and whining about it here seems to help immensely. you don't have to feel obligated to commiserate, though you are more than welcome to do so. heh heh.

i am beyond exhausted today. like, if i could compare the levels of sleep deprivation to the movie mad max beyond thunderdome; we'll say a little tired is our pal max as he dozes behind a herd of camels just before the plane knocks him loose and steals all his gear.

thunderdome would be not quite falling asleep while driving, but having trouble keeping your eyes open whilst sitting down.

then the gulag is wishing you could actually be in your bed, and imagining how nice the comforter feels.

well, then, o beloved non-existant readers, my droogs and only friends, i am in crack in the earth, wishing to christ i could ease my head back while kids run around screaming and talking and begging me to catch the wind and calling me captain walker and shit.

(and if you have never seen the movie, then my whole stupid analogy/inside joke/insanity has been for nought, and no doubt you are currently scratching your head and asking yourself, "what the fu...?" don't worry, i get that alot. from people who have known me for years. it is, in and of itself, an unfortunate side-affect of being just this tired. i can actually hear my wife inside my cranium saying, "funnier in your head?")

it is, after all, thursday. i have come to the conclusion that for me, personally, wednesday and thursday are usually worthless days. the after effects of an exciting (such as it is) weekend have worn off, and the anticipation of yet another exciting (compared to thursdays, for example) weekend hasn't quite begun yet.

i should be cleaning. oh, and maybe i will. as the song says, "if you don't expect too much from me, you might not be let down."

i desperately wanted to lay back down in my soft bed after shuttling nos. 1 and 2 onto the school bus this morning, skipping my workout and ignoring any other things i ought to do, but a quick glance at the calendar told me i had several things to accomplish. no sweat, i will shift them to tomorrow morning. another quick glance informed me that not only do they have monday off for memorial day, but tomorrow as well. what the blue fucking blazes!?! don't these acedemic fuckers know what they are doing to me?!? mother of god!

and so another cup of coffee was hastily consumed, and a quick shower was taken, and i dress myself and into the fray, o beloved non-existants.

i will post something of merit soon, i hope. as soon as the kids go to sleep at their normal time, and i get the house clean in short order, and lay down extra early, and the kids allow me to sleep the entire night unhindered...

ummm, maybe you ought not expect anything overly grandiose anytime soon, eh?

darth sardonic

hoh boy

i've been tagged (again (but don't feel bad dj kirby, you didn't know that sparx laid this one on me previously)), this time with eight things about me and eight other (unlucky) bloggers.

ummm, so let's see...

1.) i used to write poetry incessantly, sometimes 5-6 a day. being happy with my life brought this stage of my writing to a near-dead stop. rereading most of the 1500 or so poems i have, they are clearly therapy. the vast majority are repetitive, whiney, self-absorbed, and in a word, suck.

2.) sometimes i drastically want people to hang out with me, be around me, even if we are not really doing anything. others, i want to be left the fuck alone. often, i can't find any friends who want to hang with me when i want, and then people call me to come over and i have to make lame excuses when i want to be alone.

3.) i took wood shop class my senior year. i had so many free electives at my small school that my choices were basically shop or be a librarian's assistant two periods a day instead of one. although it didn't really seem like my style of class, i loved it.

4.) being tired and whatever else from having my wife gone and taking care of my kids full-time with few breaks or rests has caused my writing typo-free to decrease ten-fold.

5.) sometimes i want to drop all the video games systems we own in a pool of acid. i would be completely unable to deal with the meltdown that this action would create in no. 1. it would last months, maybe years, and i just don't have the energy for that kind of long-term battle. i do, nearly daily, battle the amount of time spent playing video games.

6.) on rare occasions, the only thing keeping me doing my fatherly duties, and doing them well, is the fear of what others will think if i don't. i'm ashamed to even admit this.

7.) currently, my back aches from round three of the back-piece tattoo. i will blog about this sometime soon.

8.) i once joined a talent show as a "stand-up comic". the only previous experience i had as a possible stand-up comic was telling stories and what-have-you at parties and other gatherings. i rocked the audience. so much so, that the talent show coordinator, who managed alot of things like that in the area, would call me when she had another shindig planned, so that i might break up the singing/dance numbers. i did this for a few years, emceeing events, doing stand-up. in this time, i learned that i didn't really have the wherewithall to work an audience, if they loved me, i was great. if they didn't like it (or i perceived that they didn't like it: i tell the story about a talent show that was done in conjunction with an outdoor bbq for the medical center that i worked in. the stage was set up at one end of a large grassy area, and the attendees were spread out picnic style all over. i started off with new material; no laughs. i tried some stuff i had used at other shows to no avail. sweaty, and in a panic (and i am sure the panic was clearly visible on my face), i went to the same material i had used a year earlier with basically this same crowd (and at which they laughed uproariously), and nothing. anxious and damn-near tears, i said, "thank you, you've been a wonderful audience. peace, love and brotherhood (the tag-line i ended every show with)." and rushed off stage, feeling i had tanked like no other comedian had ever tanked in the entire history of comicdom. the next day, one of my patients said, "hey, you're the comedian! oh my god! that was the funniest shit i have ever heard!" turns out, due to the size of the field, and the dispersity of the audience, i couldn't hear the laughter.), i would get anxious and basically tank and bail. after what would turn out to be my last show bombed, i decided i no longer really felt the need to continue with my comedian career.

except here, possibly.

last time, i got maybe four people. this time i am going to tag everyone in my pals list. but in my usual inimitable manner, i am not even going to bother to tell them. if they read this, and are interested ( i am absolutely sure that tyler durden will just be thrilled), and i haven't already tagged them recently, then they can, if they so choose, play along. if not, well, it is a free country.

till next time.

darth sardonic

no-shower sundays

when my practice marriage fell apart, and i moved into a two bedroom with my mate rudehead, and then shortly thereafter my wife started sharing my food, my room, and my bed, we instituted what we referred to as no-shower sundays.

essentially, we would all roll out of bed whenever our eyes finally opened enough to allow light to pass through them into the brain, usually mildly hungover, put on pajamas (under most normal circumstances, i sleep naked. yes, i'll wait until you are done chundering. alright? cool), and proceed to spend the entire day lazing about in our pj's and doing whatever thing we felt like, most times as long as it didn't involve leaving the apartment.

we'd play video games, or star wars monopoly, watch (and make fun of) porn (don't be fooled, we were all still getting turned on, but isn't porn just fucking funny?!?), eat whatever was handy (my wife looks at our cupboard full of ramen, asks if i care if she cooks up one for lunch, and i tell her, "don't ask me, it's rudehead's." she calls out to rudehead in the living room, "can i have your spicy beef?" without missing a beat, rudehead says, "goddamn, lady, i hardly even know you!"), and in general have some of the best days of our lives.

with my wife gone, and my energy level apparently permanently set at quagmire, i have reinstituted the no-shower sundays.

now, before you all send children's services to kick in my door, no, my kids aren't being neglected. and no, i usually clean the house like crazy on saturday, so we aren't hanging about in squalor. i've even taken a shower today and am dressed in jeans and a tshirt. but otherwise, the feel is the same.

i was stretched out on the couch with a book and my blankie (yes, the kids get it from me, what can i say?), and no. 2 walks up:

"ah wakka mo rray zzis."

i look up from my book, "wha'?!?"

"ah wakka mo rray zzis."

"why dontcha try finishing the ones in your mouth first? jesus."

no. 2 looks like a pitcher for an old-time baseball team, before tobacco became such a leprosy. i half expect him to turn and spit before hurling a slider my way.

the boys and i have played enough video games to reduce even einstein's brain to cold oatmeal. but fear not, o beloved (and comment-crazy, hahahahaha!) non-existant readers, they both recently asked me to read them a book as well.

"big brown. big brown bear. big brown bear, blue bull. big brown bear, blue bull, beautiful babboon."

ahhhh, an excuse to do nothing. and boy, is it shaping up to be a great day.

darth sardonic

my muse left, and took all my cd's

no. 1 is all but registered for kindergarten. regular kindergarten. normal, everyday, regular kid kindergarten. i almost can't wrap my head around it. he will still have speech therapy, though the tests show he is really catching up fast in that department.

we go for kindergarten orientation in a bit. that oughtta be fun.

no. 2 has glasses now, and i swear to christ he is going to fucking kill me with them. he will go to play, and come running back ten minutes later and no glasses.

"where are your glasses?"

"ah dunno dadda."

"well, go find them!"

"okaaaay."

he leaves, and many minutes go by. he comes back. still no glasses.

"where are your glasses?"

"ah dunno."

"sod it, i'll find em myself. jesus christ!"

i will discover them in the grass by the pool with one of the wings bent at an odd angle. i will straighten it. i will then launch into a tirade about taking care of the glasses, and keeping them on his face and so on and so forth. i will look up to see no. 2 staring at me as if i am some kind of mutated rat from another planet that is attempting to communicate in charlie-brown-adult-speak, and he doesn't know whether to bash me with a shovel or run screaming away.

i signed up for suicide girls, and that has been entertaining me some. well, ok, alot. god, i love the girls of suicide girls, and fanny is still my favorite. ahh, sweet fanny...

ummm, err, where was i? oh, yeah.

i was in the process of realizing i didn't have a good ending for this rather shitty little post.

darth sardonic

a little bit of everything...

when your children ask you if they can do something, anything other than a firm "no!" means yes. a firm "no!" means wheedle and cajole, and daddy will probably cave.

to the parent, anything but a firm "yes!" means no. a firm "no!" means, boy, i will fuck your shit up.

happy mother's day to one and all. i think the vast majority of my pals list is now mothers. predominantly stay-home mothers. our little coffee clatch, as mother hoodlum (the original) would say. this particular coffee clatch sure is an odd lot. but we're fun. last year i listed off special mother's days to all my friends who were moms. pardon if i don't do it again this year. the honest-to-god truth is that there are only two moms who really deeply matter in my life. and i already told both of them on seperate occasions that i loved them. still, not to sound the asshole, hahahaha, (too late) i hope all you mothers had a wonderful day. not just mother's day, but each and every one.

while lost in portland in a car with my two whiney kids, a sore thumb, a headache, and my mother, rest assured she (my mother) will have countless stories to share about relatives i have never met, many of whom are deceased, and will, furthermore, argue with herself about unimportant details ("it was may of '47...no, maybe it was june of '47. no, it couldn't have been june, because your great aunt winona hadn't come to visit yet. maybe it was may of '46. no, i'm pretty sure it was may of '47, see? 'cause aunt winona came in june, and it happened just before she came to visit..."). i will half-listen, gleaning tidbits that might actually interest me or that i find interesting (i have some kind of connection with my late grandfather (i only vaguely remember him at all, he passed when i was 3 or 4) and the more i learn about him, the more connected i feel with him), whilst nodding and making noncommital noises like, "mmmmhmmm. yah. yiiiiiip. hmm hmm hmmm."

i have been eating right, and working out faithfully. the wife is working out two times a day six days a week while gone, and i don't want her coming back all rock hard and hot as hell (well, she is anyways) to a flabby pale hubby who has done little but sit on his ass all day. i drink a ton of water. if my pee was any more clear, it would be tap water.

the kids continue to battle bedtime like it is the evil villian in some kind of existential video game that they play in their minds (which would make a cool movie). i'm hoping to god and sonny jesus it is simply a transitional thing that will settle after awhile, cause i horde that time after they go to bed with miserly greed and avarice.

i have decided that when i am alone with my children, i have begun to sound a bit like milton from office space. i have a consant litany of thoughts, admonitions, and suggestions being mumbled at a just barely audible volume, (gbbl not do that stppl rabbl gonna get hurt fppl gip bmmbl red swingline stapler stimpl rimple gumble it would be easier if babbl lippl dip gonna burn this place down.)

it was about 2:30 in the afternoon some idle thursday. 2:30 is the time when someone has pulled the plug on my energy pool and i am doing good to keep myself upright and functional. i am drinking coffee like it is the essence of life.

no. 1 says, "i wan' cokkit milk, pease!"

i shuffle into the kitchen, get out two cups, plop a scoop of nesquik in each (because i know that no. 2 is a bandwagoner, and will want some too.)

not this day. he runs in, annoyingly perky, considering my own state of unenergetic, and says, "i 'ant jooss!"

"you can't have juice, i already put the chocolate into the cup. you can have chocolate milk."

"i don' wan' chokkit mewk. i 'ant jooss!"

"you can have chocolate milk, i'm making that now."

"i don' wan' chokkit."

"i'm not giving you juice. you can have chocolate."

"i don' wan' chokkit. i 'ant jooss!!"

"tell you what, you can have ritz crackers or chocolate milk and that is it."

"i don' wan' riss crackews. i don' wan' chokkit mewk. i 'ant jooss!!!!"

now, o beloved and long-suffering non-existant reader, i do something of which i am not proud, and which i am sure has put my father of the year award on "status pending" yet again, but i was tired and worn out and fed up with these kinds of circular arguments:

"then fuck off!" i tell my youngest.

he folds his arms high across his chest, tilts his head down while shooting a fiery gaze up at me from just below his brows, and says, as he stomps away:

"no, dadda, i don' wanna fut off."

i felt like a heel, and told him, and apologized. of course, the story afforded many laughs later for my wife and friends, who can totally see no. 2 pulling that kind of stunt.

but he ended up drinking the chocolate milk.

darth sardonic

and the day is saved by the ring of a telephone

yesterday morning broke too early.

i had my will appointment, and some running around to do, and was looking forward to getting out of the house and doing whatever i felt like for a few hours while the kids were in school.

until i heard no. 1's cough from the other room.

dammit. this wasn't your average, run-of-the-mill cough, that i might be able to disguise with lozenges and toddle him off to school as if nothing were out of the ordinary. this was a hefty cough. a bordering-on-gagging cough. the kind of cough that would land him in the nurse's office mere seconds after arriving at school, and interrupt the morning run i had planned with a call to come pick him up.

so i put him on the couch with his blanket and binkie, and a quilt to cover him, put in a new hope, and tell him he needs to rest. no. 2 quickly wisens to the situation and insists that he, too, must stay home from school. i should fight this, probably. dress him a patatas (sorta like saying kicking and screaming, or fighting), force him onto the bus.

but since my wife has left, both the kids are extra clingy, and i am just too exhausted to fight this battle.

i sigh, give in, and set him up on the other couch.

with slumped shoulders, i call the school. then i sigh heavily as i wait for the bus to arrive so i can tell the driver they won't be going. the biggest blow is calling the legal office to reschedule, and finding out that due to the volume of deployments, there aren't any open appointments for military dependants for some time. they will call me when one is available.

about an hour later, the kids are wrestling around on the floor, and no. 1's cough is down to a level where i could have disguised it and sent him off to school and gotten away with it.

fuck.

they then have sufficient energy to run me ragged for the rest of the day, and i long for their bedtime.

but the solace of bedtime is short-lived, as i hear the sounds of wrestling and shrieking and general mayhem emanating from within. i enter, and tell them in no uncertain terms that they need to be in their own beds and quiet. i leave.

i have barely shut the door and turned my back when i hear shrieking and bedframes creaking again.

this continues for two-and-a-half hours, shrieking and banging, me pausing my movie yet again, me raging with increasing volume at each visit to replies of "ok, daddy" "yes, daddy" while the usual hour of my wife's crackly, voice-delayed call falls further and further behind, with the funk welling up in me tenfold, until it all boils over and i shout at my kids that i will take an axe to their video games and burn their toys and give their movies to needy children if they don't fucking lay down in their own fucking beds and be quiet!

no. 1 stares at me, wide- and wet-eyed, and no. 2 just straight-up bursts into tears. i slam the door, still cursing under my breath. i take three steps down the hall, stop, rub my face, sigh, turn, and walk back to the door.

"daddy still loves you guys, ok? you need to listen to daddy, and do what he asks, but i will always love you, and i just wanted you to know that. now, can you please stay in your beds, quietly, and, preferably, asleep?"

they nod, say "yes, daddy." this time with more sincerity, and i give them hugs and kisses anew, and tell them again that i love them, and that mommy loves them.

i all but drag myself out to the couch to finish my movie, while thinking, "come on, it's not like she can call every day. i mean, she's at work. you should just figure she's not calling today. you should quit being such a big fucking pansy, c'mon."

but the funk has settled in tight, and the backs of my eyes burn, and i feel whatever energy i had draining into the floor like spilled juice.

the movie is over, and i decide to go to bed at a decent hour, maybe read some before calling it a night.

the phone rings. the only person who would call me at this hour... it is! yeeeaaaaaah!!! it is, it is.

we have the longest conversation we've had since she left, and the funk weakens, breaks up, dissipates like fog in the presence of the sun.

i sleep like a baby.

darth sardonic

i need a beer to wash it all away without a trace...

And then i'll drink 23 more/To wipe this stupid smile off my fucking face

am i horribly wrong for hoping that paris hilton gets shite kicked out of her in prison?

does anyone still watch er? or even care? i watched it back when it was a show about doctors and patients. now it is a show about abductions, deaths, reincarnations, and dr. slutbutter being trapped on some desert island. each episode has to outdo that last. in our house, if a show we liked starts getting stupid, we say it has gone all er. yes, i am saying that er is now a soap opera. and god knows, i hate soap operas.

today on the way to therapy, i am cranking the stereo, singing (or barking might be more appropriate) the words at the top of my lungs when i cotton to the fact that i have back-up singers.

in the back seat i hear, "i ti-eeeeerd. ah seepin' wif mahsel."

oh joy and frabjous and gorgeousness and gorgiosity, o my beloved non-existant readers. as a shot a quick backwards glance, eyebrow on full tilt and grinning like the dippy bastard i am, i see my boys bobbing their heads and singing along to the, although possibly inappropriate, definitely extremely cool song pumping out of the stereo.

the father of the year award review board is holding my trophy pending further investigation.

need to schedule a sardonic males mosh pit a little later today. maybe after i dessimate them in a super soaker battle.

i'm completely blown away at the amount of people swinging by this dumb little blog. good lord.

i had a bunch more silly and sarcastic and possibly funny random stuff to put here, but the kids just pulled my energy plug a sec ago and it has completely drained out of me, and i lost it all.

not to worry though, it always comes back to me, sometimes at the most inopportune moments.

darth sardonic

getting to know you...

it seems, as a result of some uncontrolled commenting i did on sparx's blog (yes, yes, i will get it added. if not here in the next few, then today for sure), new people are swinging by this small grain of sand on the beach that is the world wide web.

and since i have been doing this for some time, and got most of the "getting to know darth" stuff out of the way in the first year, i feel it might be time to do a recap for the new readers:

i am a huge bucket of conradictions (as if stating this in my "about me" isn't nearly enough.) i am alternately gloomy and joyful. i love life, despise it, hate it, embrace it, look forward to each day with anticipation, dread, and childlike glee. i piss and moan about my life on occasion, all the while completely cognizant of how good i have it.

i am a smartass. duh.

the title "not even star-crossed, just unlucky" is a line from the codiene song, cigarette machine. it is, in my opinion, one of the most clever lines in a song i have ever heard.

i play the bass, the guitar, the drums, and even a bit of keyboards, and make failed attempts to sing. i do it in that order, heh heh. i hope to soon have a music myspace to abuse at least as much as i abuse this blog.

i am a stay-home father for my(our) two children, both boys, that i call nos. 1 and 2 within the confines of this blog, for the sake of their privacy, such as it is, since i elaborate on embarrassing details of their potty-training, therapy, and whatever else.

both of my kids were born early, and as a result, are behind somewhat developmentally. no. 1 is a little delayed in speech, and no. 2 is behind in general. this does NOT mean they are dumb or slow in any kind of way, and i resent it enough to nearly come to blows when people i don't know insinuate that they are based on a quick observation at the park, pool, or in line at the supermarket.

i am: a dork. a punk. a motherfucker. a lazy bastard. a crackah (hahahahaha, or poor white trash that has clawed its way up from the depths, but it still comes out sometimes--you can take the boy out of the trailer, but not the trailer out of the boy.) a fiercely loyal friend who will drop you like hot dogshit if you fuck me over (life is too short to waste on people who don't treat you like you treat them.) a star wars fan (again, duh.) a son. a husband. a father. a pervert (shocking, i know, to discover that a stay-home dad, is still, after all is said and done, a male homo sapien.) a lover. a fighter. a filthy-mouthed intellectual who loves language in it's many and varied forms, from the most refined and educated, right down to the gutter. i do not give a shit what 99.9% of people think about me.

i believe everyone is right. i believe everyone is fucked-up. i believe that we have the god-given right to be both right and fucked-up at the same time, and to shout it loudly from the rooftops. i don't believe "shouting it loudly from the rooftops" means the same thing as "cram it down people's throats."

unfortunately, i also believe that this gives me the right to make fun of you and yours, just as you might do me were you so inclined.

i usually laugh at most of what i find someone has said derrogatorily about me. i am my biggest critic, i also have a sense of humor, which means i can laugh at the stupid shite i do. but, being a bucket of contadictions, i am also amazed to find out the idiotic things i do on a daily basis are being done by people all over the world.

i am a writer that completely embraces both "author intrusion" and "stream-of-conscious."

i am not sure if the periods are actually supposed to go inside either the parentheses or the quotations in most of what i have written in this post. i am also not worried about it; if i ever publish anything (which seems unlikely) most companies hire editors, and i am sure that guy will set me straight. in no uncertain terms, no doubt. and probably at top volume.

i am darth sardonic, welcome to my blog.

and if you don't like anything you have read here, there's the door and you can piss right off.

my david lynch hair

ty one and all for the nice compliments and comments. i will be adding many of you (maybe all) to my pals list soon.

too tired and toasty on tequila to try right now, heh heh.

darth sardonic

no quise matar

no soy malo de naturaleza...

heh heh. such a stupid and random thing to begin my post with today. for some reason i remembered it this morning. i guess, you know, cause it is cinco de mayo and all.

backstory:

i was in a little town called rojas where everyone seemed to be related and where the dogs were all diseased or dying. my roommate and i were in our little apartment, just messing around, and i began to sing morrissey's "last of the famous international playboys" when out of the blue i translate the line "i did not want to kill, i am not naturally evil" on the fly and hey, presto, it fits exactly with the music.

we must've laughed for an hour, and for months to follow, we would sing, out of the blue, "no quise matar, no soy malo de naturaleza."

and since no one around here celebrates el 16 de septiembre or el 9 de julio, and since i'm unsure as to what goes into a cairapino, i am going to go with el cinco de mayo, and tequila shots.

so to you and yours, que les pase bien!

darth sardonic

this is me breathing

ok, this time with my wife overseas is going to be nothing if not interesting:

today, upon arrival from school, and as i was setting up the video games so that they might play them for a bit and i might finish laying down a guitar track on the computer that was giving me an unfair amount of headache, no. 1 says, "welcome to da no. one show. dis is my friends daddy an no. 2. dese are video games."

shortly thereafter, i am sure i hear no. 2 say "fug it."

i say, "what?"

"fug it, dada, fug it in."

no. 2 is pointing at the controller that i am getting ready to plug in to the console.

"oooooooh." (remind me to share a story of no. 2's actual usage of the work fuck. in the story, he's cute and i am an asshole.)

no. 1 is all set for college dorm life, having pulled out my wife's larger glass measuring cup, putting in a rather overdone amount of lucky charms, adding apple juice to it, and eating it with one of our biggest wooden spoons. if i can get him to eat pizza that has been sitting out on a desk for three days, he's all set.

early thursday morning, i drive my wife to the airport. we had this agreement not to cry in front of each other, and despite occasionally noticing red, watery eyes, we held pretty true. but i got a little gulpy telling her i loved her as we hugged at the drop-off.

"don't cry don't cry." she says.

this has been percolating within me for three days, easily. i gulp it down, hold my breath, and dive into the car, waving frantically from within the safety of tinted windows, the tears spilling down my cheeks despite my efforts to hold them back.

the whole ride home is accomplished in a wavey haze of tears, the radio drowned out by the sound of my own sobs.

by the time i walk through the door, i am tired, mopey, but ready to take this challenge on. then i get dealt the parting shot: a note in front of the computer; "i love you! miss u already!"

after another five minutes or so, i calm down again.

but, in the midst of all this crying, o beloved non-existant reader, i have the image of all the crying we will do when my wife returns. so yes, i am sad. and yes, i will miss her like i would miss my eyes or arms if someone took them away, and have already experienced about a million things i would normally share with her when she arrived home from work, but i know that these months shall pass rapidly, and we will have so much to share.

and baby, i love you too, and i missed you before i even knew i was missing you.

and no, i am not crying. though my throat seems a little tight. hmmmm, odd.

darth sardonic

ps. i tagged krissie (no doubt to be added to my pals list soon) but in the meantime go to the comments and click the link, i am too fucking lazy to add html links or whatever fucking thing it is. that makes four, we should assume that is the best you are to get from me.

a diversion

honestly, i am not sure this could've come at a better time:

ok, sparx tagged me in some kinda online blogger game thing, so i am going to do my darndest to pull this off, though i imagine i will muck it up to no end.

ten things about me:

1) i shave my ears and nostrils (and numerous other places as well, o beloved non-existants, but to keep you from yakking your lunch, i will simply keep it at that.)

2) i seriously doubt i am as clever/funny/good-looking/cool as others seem to think i am. quite often, i feel like a charlatan and that it is only a matter of time until everyone is on to me.

3) i highly doubt i am going to come up with ten people to tag with this thing.

4) i am currently wearing a pair of chucks that has a tear that i have repaired with duct tape. my wife keeps offering to just buy me a new pair to replace them, and i keep fighting it, cause they are otherwise perfectly good shoes, and i think the tape makes them cooler.

5) i currently have absolutely no idea what to write here.

6) i aided in the torture and death of enough small animals as a kid to wonder about a) my sanity, and b) my past life/lives.

7) i have been blogging for so long i am sure that mostly i am just repeating myself.

8) i have about 200 pages done on my novel/memoirs/whateverfuckingthingiamcallingit, and i am still not done.

9) most of it is crap.

10) about 9 years ago i came up with a similar idea for a movie that is out now on dvd starring dane cook and jessica simpson that we watched last night and was actually much funnier than i expected. and more interesting than mine would've been, probably.

shit, i actually made it to ten. fuck me gently with a chainsaw.

now for what is sure to be a failed attempt at coming up with ten people to tag. hmmmm, let me see, of my pals list, only lola and mother hoodlum might actually be keen on putting up with a tag from me, so those two for sure. almost no one else in my list blogs anymore, well, except rick, but he is so busy making music that he hasn't replied to my attempts to get ahold of him for a cd/t-shirt/sticker, let alone actually writing a blog about himself. umm, oh, and archenar. i'm sure she will find this fun.

so what do i have? three? ummm, give me some time to do some research, and i will see what i can come up with. though i am guessing the answer to that will most likely be: nowt, jack, scratch, ni bledo, zip, none, and whatever other words for nothing you want to toss my way.

in the meantime,

darth sardonic